As a deluded fantasist with a constant internal monologue, I sometimes fantasise that I have inexplicably been picked for a tour de france team, and though I am clearly in last place (no other riders around) I have to keep going to make the cut off else my team will suffer.
I have also been known to imagine what it would be like to be chased by a helicopter over the moors and how I would best evade its cannons, although I did once suffer a number of “straffing runs” from an A10 back in the day, I guess a cyclist is a harder target to lock onto than a tank, and therefore makes good practice. As a result of this I’m constantly checking the skies.
This week I’ve had the small potatoes theme in my head, constantly. Sometimes I sing it out loud, including the harmonies, this i find works better than a bell.